


scenes

by Teaotter



Series: sequels I will never write: The Firm [2]
Category: The Firm (TV)
Genre: Clothing Kink, Gun Kink, Kinks, M/M, Snippets, WIP Amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22767820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaotter/pseuds/Teaotter
Summary: Mitch and Joey's relationship.
Relationships: Mitch McDeere/Joey Morolto Jr.
Series: sequels I will never write: The Firm [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636933
Comments: 2





	scenes

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended to be a five-things story that stalled out at three. I've declared WIP amnesty to get it out of my folder. Fly! Be free!

Their first time is there on that leather couch, surrounded by Joey’s school books and the breadcrumb trail of a life he doesn’t get to have. It fits, for Mitch, this feeling that he doesn’t know anything important about Joey Morolto. So they can go slow, and sweet, the two of them necking like teenagers until Joey huffs out an impatient laugh and slides his hand into Mitch’s pants. 

Then slow goes out the window in favor of getting Joey out of his clothes, peeling back layers of silk and cotton to get at skin. Later, when Mitch has his hand wrapped around both of their dicks and he’s holding out just to watch Joey come achingly apart, Mitch wonders if the sweetness was anything Joey ever expected, either.

***

Mitch’s hand trembles faintly. The gun is brand new; Joey bought it because it’s the sort of thing he imagines Mitch would be able to get a hold of easily. Joey never asked, so Mitch never told him about the unregistered guns at the office, at his home, in his car. He’s glad; he doesn’t think he could do this with anything he bought out of fear.

The gun isn’t loaded, but that’s easy to forget. Because Mitch has Joey handcuffed to a chair, snarling and snapping at him, just the way they agreed. They’re in the garage of one of Joey’s houses, the windows blacked out with cardboard. There’s a desk and the chair and nothing else, so the sounds echo back to them off the walls every time they breathe.

Joey is cursing up a storm, but his expression is so hungry it scares the hell out of Mitch. This isn’t his fantasy, the same as it’s not his gun. He’s been on the other side of this too often to be entirely comfortable playing this game.

But something in him sees Joey’s hunger and burns.

***

The suit fits perfectly. Of course it does. Joey had Mitch stand still for the tailor last month, chalk marks drawn down the inside of the trouser legs and over the sleeve cuffs like graffiti. But Mitch hadn’t thought about how it would feel to wear it.

All those years on the run drop away, and leave Mitch with the person he would’ve been if he’d never left Memphis. Never left the mob.

Joey lets Mitch put on the silk boxers himself, but everything else... Joey dresses him like a doll, and Mitch watches in the mirror, losing himself in the details. Joey’s hands buttoning up the crisp silk shirt, his fingers nimble on the gold cufflinks. The slide of a watch more expensive than Mitch has ever touched; perfectly shined Italian hand-sewn shoes. Joey even combs Mitch’s hair for him, before helping him into the double-breasted suit jacket. Charcoal with pinstripes, a tie pin that matches the cufflinks, the stripe on the tie exactly the color of Joey’s dress shirt. 

Joey lets Mitch straighten the tie, and drops his hands. There in the mirror is someone Mitch could’ve been, in another life. Rich hotshot mob lawyer, bought and paid for.

But he’d never be standing next to Joey.


End file.
